SURGE
by SketchedJDII
Summary: Mordecai has an important ability he must learn and develop to save a grotesque world from falling downward. The year is 201X when the world holds the state of anarchy, upkept by two governments and a rebellious clan. Conflict breaks after an accident of Mordecai, and the three search to find him on the run. Only one of them might catch him in an all-out effort.
1. Chapter 1 - Coffee at Night

SURGE is a sci-fi, action, and adventure story inspired by CorridorDigital's _SYNC_ and Cartoon Network's _Regular Show._

* * *

Mordecai doesn't have a reason to smile. He peeks at the mirror in front of him and swiftly looks down into the sink to avoid his face. An urgent question must be answered before he has to wash his hands and rush back to the dining room: could there be improvements to think up for himself? The conversations before were inanimate and mostly forgotten. Though he remembers the disgusting pieces that he should've forgotten. Never-minding them, he tries to figure out what to say. But what couldn't he not say that's said already? Maybe he should improvise to know exactly what to say. That's it. Don't push it; get comfortable. Also, some leniency can make him look better if given. But the giver would know. And why would there be leniency in a conversation with a friend? Nevermind this too! Just talk for talking's sake. Is there anything else about himself that should be forgotten too for the time being? He looks up back to the mirror at himself. Though he tries to find himself in the reflection in the mirror, the mirror isn't a liar. The reflection of his eyes tells about unrested nights. He quickly looks back down into the sink and starts to mind that time is running out as the stream of water slurps down the drain. Rigby is waiting at the table in the dining room. Mordecai's hands move to wash, turn off the faucet, and dry by a blower. They find themselves feeling down deep into his pockets onto a wad of paper. The touch reminds him about later tonight, sparking a train of thought about planning and ergonomics. Unsatisfied questions of what he's doing is persistent on his mind like an interrogation. He ignores the questions and refocuses on the conversation that will happen in a few minutes. But one question remains relevant and constant in his mind: what happens after the conversation? He looks around the room and at the door before picking out the wad and unfolding it into a sheet. He reviews it: 11:00 PM is important from all of the other printed dates and times on the page, as being highlighted, circled around with a marker, and having been annotated on the margins of the magenta paper. He looks up at the mirror again to see if he's upset or something wrong is on his face after reading it. He sees himself with a serious face. He thinks nothing is too wrong, but the only thing wrong is his rolled-up hoodie sleeves. They didn't have the same length as each other. He fixes them and folds the paper back into his pocket. He leaves the bathroom to the cafe.

Mordecai spots Rigby across the countertops of the bar, leaning forward onto the table with one hand with his phone and the other holding a pretzel. He appears lively while he swipes his thumb across and around the phone. His backpack and laptop sit atop his chair and the table, ready to be at use. Mordecai returns to the table, sitting across from Rigby.

"Yo!" Rigby says looking up at Mordecai, biting his pretzel.

"Sorry for taking so long," Mordecai says.

"Don't sweat it. Nice to see you, man."

"Did you order already?"

"Nah. I waited for you."

"Cool. You're fine if we get to-go?"

"Uh," Rigby frowns. "We just got here, man," he says shaking his head, placing his phone into his pocket. "You got somewhere to be?" he continues, while his mind falls downward from his happy heights to think about the problems of Mordecai's hastiness. Before this short trade of words, it had been a few months since they had one short dialogue. And even longer before that, Mordecai was closer friends with Rigby and worked his job during the day. Now, mostly throughout any day, Mordecai would be groggy and irritated by something he would find upsetting. He'd go to sleep around sunrise and disappear late in the afternoon. His co-workers at the park began to realize and question him. When they asked, Mordecai would nod OK without saying anything back to satisfy the concern of his co-workers. And eventually, the co-workers assumed this new Mordecai was fine since they had false feedback from him; except Benson and Skips having the suspicion to check on him once in a while, and especially Rigby.

Rigby has been wanting to know what's with this new Mordecai since he began to act this way. He had tried before to learn where Mordecai had been going in the night, twice. The first time he hid in a bush during the twilight hours where Mordecai would come home.

He nestled within a bush without any sense of sight and crouched in silence with the least motion possible. He peered at Mordecai's car that was arriving and driving closer to the driveway. His vision became illuminated by the headlights of the car, revealing the hidden branches over his face. Parting the branches of leaves from his face, he watched the door open with Mordecai's foot and the other stepping out to the side. And the feet turned back toward the car; Mordecai was bent and was doing something. He straightened back up and shut the door while the lights shut off. The driveway was dark again. Eventually, the park house's motion-detector lights turned on and showed Mordecai walking toward the house. Rigby looked upward at him: he looked exhausted, a tale of him sweating. And in contrast, his eyes focused forward, awake. He walked closer to the bush and went by as he stepped up a few steps to the front patio. Then he stopped, with his head turned back a little towards Rigby. The wind had blown and the leaves of the bush rustled stiffly. There was silence except for the wind calmly blowing. Rigby was quick to wonder why Mordecai was standing there while he sat and watched the moonless sky move slightly -until the wind stopped. Silence. Then Mordecai moved again. Rigby slowly turned his head toward him, eyeing him standing over the bush. Rigby held his breath. He thought that Mordecai could grab him by the shoulders or by the arm any second now and pull him out onto the concrete if he heard him. Mordecai's feet moved and scraped the ground. A branch snapped. Rigby tightened up in defense. Mordecai moved back slightly from the bush, as he was surprised by the bush. Then he came back to kneel and look at the bush again. Rigby became annoyed by Mordecai's nosiness. Why wouldn't he go into the house as he expected? He couldn't rest or stop from looking at Mordecai's squinting and curious eyes unless he wanted to be spotted. Yet Mordecai was mostly blinded by the night -but not completely blind. A little help from the weak light showed the barely jittering shadows of the leaves leaving darker shapes on Rigby while he strained a little to be still. He begins to inspect the bush's shadows, until he pinpoints an area, and inspects that area. Rigby was beginning to feel that he needed to breathe eventually and wanted Mordecai to leave. His legs were becoming stressed from crouching and balancing on his toes, and his arms wanted to relax and rest on the branches. Then he felt something touching the tip of his tail. Something was running across his fur on the edge of his tail. Then it pinched. Rigby stiffened more and became angrier, causing the leaves to dance. Mordecai spotted him! But did he? Should he quit, and surrender his hiding? Or should he jump out the bush and run away? He chose to wait again. Mordecai was still standing over him. Was Mordecai waiting for Rigby to budge? Despite what might happen, he still must take the chance of being mistaken for something else. He made his tail limp and cushioned it on the branches so that it might feel like something fleecy stuck in the bushes. But Mordecai began to form his hand over his tail and clenched down on the fur to the bone. Rigby had thought to snatch his tail away, but Mordecai pulled his tail upward and easily out of the bush. His tail yanked at his end; Mordecai stopped pulling. Rigby was furious at himself. He thought to just continue to play it out and stick to the plan. Mordecai knew of course; he was playing with him. He began to tug again, causing Rigby to lose balance. Rigby's knees pointed downward to counterbalance the pull, placing his balance back on his toes to fix the loss of ground from his feet. He placed his hands on the branches, to keep from losing balance again. His lungs desired desperately for air. Mordecai clamped firmer on his tail, and tugged again, causing Rigby to exhale loudly, as the branches held by Rigby's hands bent and rustled. Mordecai heard and yanked upward, pulling Rigby out the bush into the light by his tail, with Rigby's hands still holding onto the branches.

"What the hell are you doing, dude?" Mordecai said, trying to pull Rigby from his grasps of the bush's branches.

Rigby lets go of the branches and said, "OW! Let go!" Rigby looked angrily at Mordecai.

"Answer the question!" Mordecai said, bringing up Rigby higher.

"Mordecai! What the hell?" Rigby said, reaching his hands for Mordecai's fist, "Let go!"

"How can I tell if you're not going to go run off if I let you go?" Mordecai questions Rigby.

"Mordecai!" Rigby exclaimed, only minding if his tail was going to break off. Mordecai lowered Rigby to the ground only enough for Rigby to place his hands down on the concrete. "What are you doing?" Mordecai asked again. Rigby groaned and rested on his hands for a while. Mordecai tugged at Rigby's tail again before Rigby snapped, "AUGH, I just wanted to see what you were doing! OK? Please, dude. Let go," he said, as he went back to complaining.

"I saw your eyes glowing, but I thought you were just another wild animal. Then I realized it was you when I barely saw your tail poking through," Mordecai said.

"What the hell don't you understand about not letting me go!" Rigby began to yell.

Mordecai didn't want Rigby to wake up the whole house, so he lowered Rigby all the way to the ground, but he didn't let go his tail. He continued to say, "What, you'd think I wouldn't see that?"

Rigby sighed in relief, sprawling out on the concrete. The tension all over his tail, back, and end had begun to go away.

"What are you doing up so early?" Mordecai questioned Rigby.

Rigby knew he was up for interrogation.

"You're such a bully," Rigby exhaled and spoke in intervals between his breaths, "I'm just looking after you. I mean, I'm just tired and I just want to know, where you have been going for these past nights."

"I've just gotten back from this stupid party by some friends," Mordecai said.

"Then you can't even ask if I'm OK?" Rigby asked.

"You're OK; besides, you deserved it," Mordecai said.

"You can't even let go of my tail."

"No. Not yet."

"Why not?"

"You spied on me, and now I have to ask you questions."

"That doesn't matter that I spied on you."

"But everyone doesn't know about last night."

"But everyone already knows."

"Damn it, Rigby."

"I'm not the only one who's caught; that makes us equal. So let go of my tail?"

"Not yet."

"Ok, then, then just ask your damn questions already," Rigby said, trying to yank his tail out of Mordecai's grasp. It slid a little before Mordecai quickly grabbed it again.

"Sometimes you make things worse for me," Mordecai said before settling to answer Rigby's question, "Listen. I'll tell you about last night."

He sighed and lied, "You know, it was just another party with other people. I originally went to get my friend's car to drive to pick him up from the airport and back, but he was going to have a party at his place. And he brought me into it by giving me money to have me buy the stuff."

Rigby sat up and said, "You're wasting your time like that?"

"At least I'm doing different things now."

"You just said you went to two parties this week, so what's that difference?"

"I'm not playing video games every night."

"What does that do have to do with anything?"

"It does with you."

"What?"

"I've moved on."

Rigby looked confused.

"I'll explain. The only thing you ever do is play videogames, for what, these past few years?"

"You don't like videogames anymore?"

"No. I got what videogames have to offer."

"But what about the other stuff we do? What about concerts, paintball, and camping?"

Mordecai remembered the other things he used to do with him.

"I don't have time for it," he said.

"We played paintball with Thomas and Muscleman last week, man," Rigby said to try to make himself not look boring.

He continued, "Then we got Chinese afterwards."

"Whatever. I'm tired of that crap too," Mordecai said.

"What? You don't like anything we used to do for fun anymore?  
"No; I mean forget what I said. It's not like I don't like anything we used to do. It's just, I don't have time for it."

"Then why don't you?"

Mordecai sat down next to Rigby and reclined back on the house.

"I'm the one who's supposed to be asking you questions, Rigby," he said.

"You never asked," Rigby said.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"This is my first time."

"How'd you know about last night?"

"I watched from the window and saw your car pulling into the driveway."

"That's all you know?"

"Yes."

"Rigby?"

"You just told me what happened last night; and what, am I supposed to know something else, too?"

"Yeah. Nothing else besides that party."

"What's wrong with you, Mordecai? Why does this crap matter to you? As far as I can think, this is just you stupidly staying out for the night. It doesn't make sense for you to clamp down on my tail for that."

"I just don't want Benson to find out. You remember about last time where we screwed up?"

"Yeah, but is this crap worth all of this?"

"Do you know what that means?"

"What? No? Mordecai, I'm serious too. Is this crap worth this?"

"Rigby, tell me that you're not going to tell Benson!"

"I told you, Benson and everyone else already knows."

"At least not about this one."

"Damn man, did you do a crime while you were there?"

"Can you tell me?!"

"OK. Yes! I won't tell Benson."

"Promise?"

"What's the point man, they're going to find out when you can't get out of bed today for work. And it's not my fault that I won't tell like I said, but yours because you went out for the entire night. And I'd be wondering when Benson is going to fire you."

"Shut up Rigby, he's not going to fire me."

"You only say that because you know it's coming."

"Listen, you can have your stupid tail back if you promise me this."

"What?"

"Next time, don't spy on me. Got it?"

Rigby sat up, "There's going to be a next time you're going to do this?"

Mordecai paused. Then he said, "No no, that's not what I meant," he said, shaking his head.

"Bullshit," Rigby said, as he caught Mordecai's attempt to divert.

Mordecai became angry and said, "Look man, I'm going to have my eyes on you. Don't do this."

Rigby paused to look at Mordecai. He paid Mordecai a silence that he did not like. It meant that he could do what Mordecai didn't want him to do, or he accepted what we wanted. Mordecai had to make sure he didn't watch.

"Rigby, you hear me?" Mordecai asked.

"Let go of my tail," Rigby asked.

"You promise that you won't spy on me?"

"Have you thought about how you're treating your friends?"

"It's only you that I really don't want you to stalk me, Rigby," Mordecai said.

"I'm tired of this bullshit, man," Rigby said, "It's always about you and your garbage. And there's something wrong about me on those lines of your garbage. What don't you like about me? Is it that I care that is wrong?"

Mordecai didn't say anything. Rigby tried to pull his tail from Mordecai, but Mordecai didn't let go.

"Rigby, stop. I'll let go when you promise me you'll stop," Mordecai said.

"Fine," Rigby lightly said.

Mordecai lets go of his tail. Rigby pulled his tail back to himself, and ran off somewhere, away from him.

This was their last conversation since four months. Recently, Rigby got over what happened and asked Mordecai time and time again just to sit and talk to him. Mordecai would still not be around the house most of the time, just except, it's worse now. The fatigue wearing on him physically and emotionally was becoming more and more noticeable. His co-workers began to mind him stressing out again, asking if he was OK again. Benson has begun to learn of Mordecai's 'parties', and was suspicious. Skips tried to understand, but Mordecai didn't want anyone to bother him. Yet today, Rigby finally convinced Mordecai to a tasty, irresistible deal: get a coffee before their night shift tonight. Mordecai agreed to have a coffee with Rigby after he was surprised that Rigby still tries to be his friend. Otherwise, Mordecai sits in his chair and denies Rigby respect of attention by scanning over Rigby's backpack and looking aside to the bar.

"I'd appreciate it if we did, anyway," Mordecai says, minding the to-go coffee so that he could leave sooner if he needs to.

"We decided to have this 'meeting' an hour earlier, to have time or whatever? Is that right?" Rigby says, finishing his pretzel.

"Yeah you're right," Mordecai says while checking his watch: nine o'clock at night.

"So that means we can chill?"

"For forty minutes."

"You need to be somewhere, or something?"

"Um, kinda, yeah."

"Come on, dude," Rigby says, holding his hands out to gesture at Mordecai. "At least you can tell me how are you?" Rigby says.

Mordecai says, "I'm OK," as he crosses his arms up on the table, placing his hands onto each arm.

"Y'know, I can tell when something's wrong," Rigby says. "I get that you're busy, but I got this other vibe about that there's something else that is bothering you."

"Dude," Mordecai says, wanting Rigby to not worry about his business.

"Though, I'm not the only one. Other people are getting bad vibes from you. They look at you funny." Rigby says.

Mordecai shrugs and says, "Why do you think so?"

"'Cause you're sick?" Rigby says, observing him. "You look kinda red."

"No," Mordecai says, placing his hand over face, then rubbing his eyes, "I'm not sick."

"You've been in that bathroom like, three times already dude since we got here."

"I have a really high metabolism."

"But you haven't eaten anything."

"I ate something weird yesterday," Mordecai lies. Rigby raises his eyebrow at him, and asks, "So, honestly, are you really OK?"

Mordecai nods, saying, "I'm just tired."

"That's another reason why I wanted you to be here, dude," Rigby says as he makes a small smirk, tilting his head toward the bar.

"You can get coffee whenever you feel like it; I'm just going to get mine now," Rigby says as he turns to slide out of his seat, and walks to the bar. Mordecai, however, notices something on TV, mounted on nearby on a column.

The TV shows a newscast initiating a conversation about Surge Operations and their latest inventions pending to be sold on the market. The newsman speaks about one of the inventions, reaches behind his news table, and one-handedly lifts up a small, yellow backpack onto the table. By flapping and unzipping a few compartments, he transforms it into an edgy, extensive labware kit. The kit begins to automatically expand on top of the table and quadruple larger in size than the backpack. Once it set, he uncovers the protective laminates to reveal several padded shelves of tiny, but plenty of empty capsules and glassware, arranged by capacity. He begins to describe that when fully expanded, it can be decompressed on top of an area no greater than a coffee table. He explains how chemists or scientists can buy the backpack; while some of the other anchors begin to look at the backpack in curiosity. They start to touch and move pieces around.

Rigby walks back over and notices Mordecai's interest at the TV. He hops up onto the seat with Mordecai, and watches TV with Mordecai shoulder-to-shoulder, saying, "You're gonna get coffee or what?" Rigby watches the newsman with Mordecai, as the newsman places the bottles away and then makes few motions to compress, fold, and zip the backpack to the way it was prior. He then slings it across his back and tugs the backpack's arms over his shoulders. The crew awes a littles, smiles, and applauds at the invention. "Dude," Rigby says, asking for Mordecai's attention again. "Yeah. Let me out of my seat." Mordecai says, feeling his pocket to see if he has his wallet. Rigby moves aside to let Mordecai out while Rigby's order number announces from the bar, "Two twenty-eight!" Mordecai and Rigby walk to the counter of the bar. Mordecai stands in line behind a customer ordering while Rigby looks onward on top of the counter for his cup in the Row -a line of ready cups to be paid for and picked up. He approaches it, walking past the condiments next to merchandise: sugar, cream, cocoa powder, cinnamon, pepper, salt, ketchup, and mustard, packed and organized into packets in a box. He searches for his number on a stand in front of his cup. A worker tending the Row walks over to hold his hand out to Rigby, saying, "Forty cents." Rigby retrieves two patina-colored coins from his wallet and lies them into the worker's hand. "Thanks," the worker says. "Two-thirty!" another worker calls. The worker slides a steamy cup quickly toward the end of the line; the cup slightly bounces off Rigby's hand in his attempt to take his cup. It deflects to be perfectly aligned at the end of the Row. With Rigby being annoyed, he looks at the busy worker that wasn't minding him, giving him an annoyed look. The worker that took his money apologizes while Rigby replies with, "It's fine." He grabs his cup and returns to stand behind Mordecai when he is ordering. Mordecai begins to say what he wants, but the worker serving him says, "Give me a minute," before she turns her head at someone calling her from the kitchen. Eileen stands in the doorframe at the back of the kitchen in uniform and with a backpack in her hand. She calls attention to something in the kitchen and then walks into another room. The worker paces back into the kitchen. As fast as she left, she came back with three stacked boxes of pizza and two pitchers of soda, calling, "Two thirty-four!" She now waits with the boxes and the pitchers that she sat on the table. Another woman comes and hurries to the counter, with a little nervous smile on her face, glancing at Mordecai, and then glancing back at the money she lays down. Mordecai realizes that he's staring at her when she leaves with the boxes of pizza. He looks down at the counter and realizes Rigby behind him. Rigby is focused on drinking his coffee. "Eileen's here at work, dude," Mordecai says to Rigby.

"Hm?" Rigby says, lifting his head to search for Eileen in the kitchen.

"Sir?" the waiter says as she approaches Mordecai. Mordecai looks back up and asks for a large cup of coffee to-go. The worker moves back to another counter to the coffee machines. She comes back again, telling him that they're going to have to start another brew. She tells him it'll be ten more minutes until his coffee is ready. Mordecai sighs to himself and turns to leave the counter as he returns to the table. Rigby walks up to the counter to order but is interrupted as he turns to look at the sound of commotion. CRACK! Mordecai had run into the woman with the nervous smile as she was returning for the pitchers of soda. Mordecai tumbles backward, slamming his back onto the wall of the counter; broken glass and fizzing soda scatter and spill across the floor. Mordecai reaches toward the back of the counter and grabs it for stability, but the spill catches up to his feet, making him slip and slide away from the counter. He tries to grab the counter again but grabs the container of condiments instead, flinging it toward himself as he lands on his back again. A large confetti of colorful packets spill over Mordecai. Some of the merchandise for sale, aside to the box of condiments, motions to tip over and falls next of him. More glass and porcelain smashes onto the floor. After a while when nothing else breaks, the customers form a circle and look down with concern at Mordecai. Mordecai begins to sit up, resting his back onto the wall of the counter. Meanwhile, a French press drops and dents its label, Hearth Cafe, upon the knuckles of his fist, then rolls over in the mixture of porcelain wet with soda.

"Owww," Mordecai says, raising his arm from a piece of glass that jaggedly cut his arm.

"O-Oh my gosh, I'm sorry!" The woman, says, offering him a hand.

Mordecai holds up a hand, saying, "I'm good. Thanks." Some of the workers back in the bar begin to snoop over the counter at Mordecai in the center of the mess while some workers leave the bar to assist.

"You're OK?" One of the workers says.

"You know that you got cut?" another worker says.

Mordecai slowly stands up dripping and stained with soda, saying to them, "Yeah," and holds two hands up, gesturing at them to leave him alone. The packets run off of Mordecai while he pushes the sticking ones off. Then he walks the soreness of his back off and checks out his arm: a crappy cut.

Rigby at this time, walks over to Mordecai, avoiding the glass, and says, "What'd you do?"

"I don't know." Mordecai says, looking at this arm. His cut is flowing.

"You're gonna be fine. Though, you hit your back hard; I could hear the wind get knocked out of you," Rigby says, "and you might want to get a napkin for that."

A worker has already paced up to Mordecai, offering him some napkins. She says, "I'm really sorry about that." Mordecai takes the napkins and says thank you to the worker as she walks back to the bar.

The woman walks over again to Mordecai, apologizing. "Hey, I'm sorry for shoving you."

Mordecai nods, and says, "I'll be fine."

The woman continues, "I thought you were getting way too close to me, but I realized you really just bumped into me by accident once I saw you losing your balance. So, yeah. I'm really sorry about pushing you then."

"It was a mistake. It's OK," Mordecai says, applying the napkins on his arm.

"Okay," the woman says, "I just wanted you to know that. I'm sorry about your arm too." She leaves the mess.

"Do you think that's going to leave a scar?" Rigby asks.

"No," Mordecai says, "nothing ever really has done it." The two begin to walk to their table, returning to their seats.

"You got that covered?" Rigby asks if Mordecai needs any help.

"Yeah," Mordecai says, peeking at the cut. It's not beading over with blood anymore.

Rigby gazes over Mordecai's injury, to pretend his worry about the injury worsening to some of the customers that are still concerned for them. He whispers, "I keep forgetting how weird of a friend I have."

Mordecai sighs at Rigby's comment.

"I really wish that my clothes and my feathers weren't wet," Mordecai exhales annoyingly, "they're gonna get sticky and stuck together."

"And you know," Mordecai sighs, "I just want to go home now. But I need my coffee for tonight." He checks his watch: Nine eighteen.

"Awh," Rigby emphasizes, "I know how that feels. And I guess we can talk until your coffee is done."

Mordecai looks towards the TV again: it displays the newscast conversing about Surge again, except they are praising them about having the edge on technology, the best security from uprising coercive rebels, and gaining political leverage.

"Horizon is coming out this Friday at the GameBox," Rigby says. "It's supposed to be the big sequel to Underworld." He is talking about a game that he hopes they could play together for once.

Rigby looks at the TV with Mordecai again, and says, "And I already pre-ordered it; it should ship to the house -dude, what's so interesting on TV?"

Mordecai brings his focus back to the table, and says, "Nevermind what's on TV; don't you think we're a bit too old for children's games?"

"No. A lot of 26-year-olds play games."

"That's still your hobby?"

"Nothing's much changed, man."

"So, you have this same, old hobby that hasn't changed?"

"What's wrong about that?"

"I didn't say anything was wrong with that. I'll say that I'm wondering if you got into some other things."

"Uh," Rigby thinks about something else he's done. He finds himself to bring his finger to point at a label on his jacket: FEATMEISTERS. "I jumped 65 meters today," he says with a proud smile.

Mordecai places his palm on his face, "Is Featmeisters a brand of that jacket you're wearing? And what were you doing, how'd you jump that far?"

Rigby becomes shocked at Mordecai, saying, "What?", as he places his hand over his heart. "You heard of Featmeisters?" Rigby says.

"No," Mordecai says.

"What? Don't you know me?" Rigby says in disbelief.

"Dude, just tell me what you're talking about," Mordecai says.

Rigby lifts up the lid on his laptop, saying, "Ok. I'll make the story short." Rigby begins to type in something in his laptop, then he clicks a few times, types some more, and turns the laptop around towards Mordecai to show a picture of the campus of Featmeisters. "I go to study the art of stunt in college, dude," Rigby says worriedly.

"No," Mordecai facepalms again, "I knew what you were talking about. I forgot about it. Sorry about not remembering about that."

Rigby makes a long sigh of relief and then places the lid down on his laptop.

"How'd you forget?" Rigby asks.

"My bad, Rigby," Mordecai says.

"Is your mind clouded that much?" Rigby asks. "I wear this jacket almost everyday, man." He continues. Mordecai moves his fingers through his hair.

"I already know something's with you, but I didn't think that it was this bad. What's wrong dude?" Rigby says.

"Yeah, you're right. It's simple; it's just that I've been busy," Mordecai says, checking his watch: Nine eighteen, again. Time creeps slowly. He looks at his arm in the napkins spotted with blood and checks his injury that is now gone.

Rigby continues to add, "I know that you're busy, but something else is pushing you or bothering you."

"It's just that I've been given a lot to do in a short period of time, dude," Mordecai says.

"Is that bothering you?" Rigby asks.

Rigby is beginning to learn about Mordecai's touchy subjects. He thinks about the relationship between Mordecai's business and fatigue. Is he so worked out that he's forgetting about his best friend? Could it get any worse?

Mordecai crosses his arms again, "I don't know, man. I really don't want to talk about business."

"Ok, but, you're going to manage yourself right?" Rigby asks.

"Of course, dude," Mordecai says.

He starts another topic, "Let's go back to Featmeisters, again? You're an adept, right?" Mordecai guesses Rigby's rank.

"Expert," Rigby corrects. "One rank lower than Professional. Two ranks lower than Featmeister."

Rigby clenches his hand into a fist, "I really want to get up there with Featmeister."

And releasing, Rigby says, "But I'm going to have to work so hard to get there."

"Featmeister is like?" Mordecai asks.

"It's being the best in the world at stunting. There's only four featmeisters." Rigby describes.

"How many students go to your college?"

"One hundred fifteen -that were invited"

"Oh, so, who's in your rank?"

"Hm. My friend, and -"

"No, I meant how many, sorry."

"Heh, I think, maybe, 30? I'm going to be promoted to Professional by next week though. Professional has 16 people of their rank."

"So, you're the third best?"

"That's not good enough for me."

"That's still impressive. I'm glad to hear you're vigorous at doing something."

"Yeah, yeah," Rigby smiles. "Thanks."

Rigby begins to stop smiling, as he remembers the problem with his bike.

"I can't practice how'd I like to, because something's wrong with the radiator on my bike." Rigby introduces his problem to Mordecai.

"My bike started to smoke when I got here. And I guess I'm going to have to take it to the shop on campus," Rigby says.

"Yeah, I saw that when I parked," Mordecai says.

"I need a ride until I can get that fixed," Rigby asks. "You can help me out with that, right?"

Mordecai looks at this watch: Nine twenty-four. He says, "Yeah, I already got you. Just if we can get out of here whenever I get my coffee."

"Dude, I thought we were going to chill?" Rigby asks.

"I don't know, man. I've got to take account of other things in order to help you."

"Ugh. Fine. Whatever. Anyways, it's good that you're helping me, but you just got to make me a deal."

Mordecai tilts his head to listen for what Rigby has to say.

"You gotta start playing games with me again. Next Friday." Rigby says.

"Fine," Mordecai says. Though, he isn't guaranteeing himself to actually play games.

"Is that a deal?" Rigby asks.

"Oh, come on, dude," Mordecai says.

"Deal?" Rigby asks again.

"Fine, I said fine." Mordecai agrees. Mordecai hasn't touched a video game console for more than a year, and he feels uncertain if he can play again with the great skills he had.

"I'm looking forward to it!" Rigby says.

Mordecai looks down at this watch again, and says, "About that coffee we were talking about." His watch shows nine twenty-four again, as Mordecai impatiently exhales.

"I've got to wait five more minutes for my cup," Mordecai says.

"It'd be faster if Eileen was here. Or Margaret. And it would taste better." Rigby says.

Mordecai disagrees, "Nah. Eileen's here, remember?" he mentions.

"Oh yeah," Rigby says, remembering that he was looking for Eileen.

"Besides, today's Saturday, dude. Everyone's demanding for some coffee right now. The workers can't keep up. Margaret and Eileen couldn't even hold up to the pressure."

The two look towards the bar, a few lines of people gather four for ordering, one for pick-up. The mess is almost clean, as a worker sweeps up the debris into a pile.

"Besides, they're here for the lounge and dine. There's no other decent place in the city to get and eat pizza." Mordecai says, looking towards the lounge. The lounge is full of people and families, being swollen since Mordecai and Rigby entered the cafe. The tempting smell of sweet marinara and baked bread themes the cafe; Rigby now has the taste for pizza.

"Damn, you care for pizza to-go?" Rigby asks.

"Might as well." Mordecai agrees, "We've got that job tonight, and we can have a snack in the meantime."

"You like plain-old cheese?" Rigby asks.

"Sure," Mordecai says.

"Ok man, don't forget you owe me three wheatneedles now."

Mordecai pulls out three golden disks from his wallet, and lies them on the table. "Here," Mordecai says, pushing them to Rigby. Rigby takes the disks, and says, "Thanks," turning to go to the bar again.

"Hey, can you see if they have two thirty-eight in the Row?" Mordecai asks.

Rigby nods, as he leaves to the bar again.

In the meantime, Mordecai looks through the napkins on his arm, and grabs some napkins from a dispenser on his table, and cleans up the area where his cut used to be and around it. However, he leaves the bloody napkins on his arm, like a paper cast. Then he goes on to the next objective on his mind: tell Benson that he will not go to the night-shift. He pulls out his phone and calls Benson.

"Hello?" Benson answers the call.

"Hey Benson, I can't make it to the shift tonight," Mordecai says.

"What's going on?" Benson asks why.

"I've got to go outta the city again. The guys called me up again," Mordecai lies. Before the 'meeting' with him and Rigby, he returned from Corduroy, representing the Park in a national recreational conference.

"Eh," Benson pauses for a moment, "how long are you going to be gone?"

"I'll be back in the morning, near noon," Mordecai says. "They just need me in the morning in Corduroy again."

"Did they send the email?" Benson asks.

"Hmmmm, you should be getting tomorrow morning's invitation tonight, so I think so," Mordecai says. "If they don't, then I'll ask them to send you one."

"Alright. You need any money for gas, lunch, a hotel?" Benson says.

"I got it," Mordecai says.

"Ok. Thanks for calling me up on that," Benson says. "You should change your route. I think the news said the traffic between here and Corduroy cleared out; so you can just go straight from Linnen to Corduroy now."

"Sweet," Mordecai says. "Alright, I'm going to get on my way."

"Do a good job for all of us," Benson says.

"I will," Mordecai says.

Benson ends the call. The lies were easy for Mordecai; he was good at telling stories. Mordecai turns to look at the bar and sees Rigby returning from the bar with his cup of coffee.

"Finally," Mordecai says, taking the cup of coffee from Rigby.

Rigby sits down and tells Mordecai, "Pizza should be done any second now."

"And then we can get out of here," Mordecai says.

"The cut's gone?" Rigby asks.

"Yeah," Mordecai says.

"Three twenty-nine!" A worker calls out.

"That's our pizza," Rigby says, getting up to pick up the pizza. He comes back with the box and opens it to see if it is cheese. A puff of warm air, scented with tomato sauce and a little bit of pesto, hits Mordecai across the face, as Rigby closes the box as he sees and confirms it is cheese. Rigby walks over to his backpack and unzips a compartment to place his laptop into it. He zips it up and throws it on his back as he stands next to the table, waiting for Mordecai.

"You're going to get a slice now?" Mordecai asks Rigby.

"Imma wait until we got home," Rigby says, grabbing the box and starting to walk toward the exit.

"Let me get a slice in the car," Mordecai says, as he stands up with his coffee in hand, and walks to join Rigby, as he waits to walk with him toward the exit.

"I really miss the times when we did this often," Rigby says, starting to walk toward the exit. "Although, we did it today."

Mordecai agrees and says, "Yeah, me too."

He also begins to feel feet rapidly step closer and closer behind Mordecai and Rigby. They both to turn around to see who was approaching them, the manager.

"Hey, wait!" she says, holding out her hand to Mordecai.

Mordecai remembers the incident before, looking back toward the bar. The mess is clear, but the condiments and some of the merchandise was missing. He assumes about the manager that she has something to say about it.

"Look. We saw you get in an accident with a lady?" She says.

"Yeah. Sorry about that," Mordecai says, scratching his head.

"Ok now, we normally charge guys like you with the expenses from damage. So you're going to pay for those damages," she says, handing Mordecai a note.

"That's a note saying you need to come back here tomorrow to see how much you need to pay. There'll be a deadline, then." She says.

"But this wasn't my fault," Mordecai says. "A woman pushed me."

"Everyone that saw the incident said that you, the tall blue jay, fell and knocked over stuff," the manager says. "So according to everyone else, it is your fault."

Rigby speaks up, "I saw the woman push him. Though it was an accident more than an incident."

"Well, you can choose not to pay. But I'll legally fine you," the manager says.

"Ok. I'll be here tomorrow," Mordecai takes the note so that the manager could leave him alone.

The manager leaves Mordecai and Rigby.

Rigby has walked up the stairs to the door and waits for Mordecai. Mordecai walks over to a trashcan to dump the napkins, then he catches up with him, and leave the cafe. They walk on the sidewalk, a shadowy valley to such dark mountains that are skyscrapers. A river of cars and trucks mass the street, and their chrome and glass reflects the moonlight. As Mordecai walks with Rigby to his car parked aside the sidewalk, Rigby notices the magenta sheet of paper shaking and hanging on the edge of his pocket. It falls onto the ground, unfolding like a parachute, face up, and without Mordecai noticing it.

"Hey dude," Rigby calls out. He walks toward the paper, and takes it. Mordecai looks behind to see Rigby picking the paper up and beginning to read it.

"DUDE!" Mordecai calls out to Rigby, startling him a little.

"What?" Rigby says

Mordecai snatches the paper from Rigby's hands. He folds it again, placing it into his hoodie pocket. His heart is beating through his hoodie.

"You didn't read this, did you?" Mordecai asks, though he knew he read it.

"Is that a bad thing that I kinda did?" Rigby questions.

A group of people is walking closer to Mordecai and Rigby's ruckus, and they stop arguing for a moment to let them pass.

"Did you see anything important?" Mordecai says, after the last person in the group passes.

"No, man. I mean, it's just a sheet of paper," Rigby says, starts to get defensive.

"I saw you looking at something for a while, when I took it away from you," Mordecai says.

Rigby shakes his head, "It's just a page that has a lot of ink on it. It has tons of dates and dates; from the beginning of this month, until two months later. You circled and highlighted something that said, FIRST DAY: FRIDAY 11:00 PM, and I read something on the sides that said, surgery op-"

"Rigby! I knew it! You better not tell anyone about this-" Mordecai says, interrupting Rigby before he realizes Rigby says surgery instead of Surge. He calms down a little to prevent too much attention; though the cafe is robust in attention to conversations, they still appear arguing with each other, in the large glass windows of the cafe.

A larger group of people come, and Mordecai and Rigby let them pass again.

"Ok man, I won't," Rigby says, placing the box between his arm and side, as the group passes by.

Mordecai's heart starts to beat faster again, and he says, "What about operations?"

"I don't know, I told you everything I read," Rigby says, "Are you OK with yourself not telling me that you have surgery operations tonight?"

"I meant that to be personal, OK? So that means this is confidential between us. Got it?" Mordecai says.

Rigby shakes his head, "You know that I care about you, why are you hiding this from me?"

"It's honestly none of your business," Mordecai says.

"You're doing this confidential crap like last time, and you honestly think you'll never be caught?" Rigby says, "I'm going to tell Benson if you don't tell me what's going on," Rigby says.

"I thought you said you wouldn't be a snitch, Rigby?"

"What, you really don't want anyone to find out?"

"No dude-" Mordecai thinks what would happen if Benson learns about the lie he told him if Rigby tells: Rigby would tell him that he was getting surgery instead of going to the conference. It's definitely a bad idea for Rigby to tell on him now.

"Listen, I beg you to not tell anyone about this," Mordecai says.

Rigby shakes his head, "No!"

"I'll promise I'll tell you all about it, not tonight, but later. OK?" Mordecai says, giving up, and accepting to what Rigby wants.

"Fine," Rigby agrees.

"This is our secret though," Mordecai says.

"OK, fine," Rigby agrees.

"OK," Mordecai sighs. He motions his hand to point at his car.

"Let's get out of here," he says.

The two walk toward the car nearby. Mordecai sits in the driver's seat, turning on the car, while Rigby takes the passenger seat, and reaches behind the seat and places the pizza in a back seat. Mordecai and Rigby fasten their seatbelts, as Mordecai turns the gear to drive. The car is ready to move forward.


	2. Chapter 2 - City in Red

Mordecai starts the car and pulls to the road with the flow of cars. The next stop is home, several minutes away. In the meantime, Mordecai refrains from talking or looking over to Rigby. The case for him to hint at him to talk needs to be impossible. Rigby would start over the argument, there would be a situation where he isn't readily prepared for, and he would be under a great mound of trouble. The other things Rigby is wising up to and the possibility of him telling others would also consequently put him deeper underneath. Tonight, once he has time, he's going to have to figure out how to push aside that trouble; making that trouble also impossible. But now that he tries to ignore what happened a few minutes ago; he minds about the car rolling smoothly in sync with the other cars.

Rigby minds too, as he stares downward at the floor of the car and thinks heavily about what happened a few minutes ago. The problem in his mind is a fight with his two fists in his lap: not releasing and persistent. But one large sigh later, Rigby is tired of thinking. He can resolve this problem better next time when it will happen again. He might not even need to help, if only Mordecai can handle the work he gives himself. But that's a bad idea; he needs help before he kills himself －or if he actually does. His fists unclench. Is there something or someone else to think about?

The car has been mostly silent on the trip home, except the tone of the wheels contacting the road being music to the city at rest. Mordecai doesn't look like he wants to talk and he still hasn't looked over. He rather looks irritably out the windshield. He holds the steering wheel strongly in his fists and sits up out of his seat. The only thing keeping him in his seat is him minding diligently about something while he taps his fingers on the wheel. The sweat on his forehead suggests that he had been going around the city on a restless routine. Rigby looks over to the window, peering out to brick and steel buildings from them climbing a bridge onto a highway. He leans back onto the cushion of the chair and crosses his arms onto his stomach. He begins to think about yesterday, what's for dinner, and what needs to be done for tomorrow. And, wait; he's inside of Mordecai's car for once! Mordecai hasn't given him a ride since he bought the car four months ago. Rigby's eyes widen and begin to explore at the fact that it is his first experience to see the insides of the car. In front of him is a glove box that is stuffed full of papers. Above is a visor that appears untouched. And behind him are sleek seats holding his backpack and the pizza. He scans the entire car, and finds himself looking again at the glove box. It seems dirty now that he saw all of the car. The papers were pressed into the glovebox, telling by some papers that were folded around the box. Though, one paper hangs just enough out the box and reads about a few operations with their times in the early evening scheduled for Mordecai. All of the papers had Mordecai's name and something scheduled for him. Starting to read the papers closely, Rigby couldn't make sense of them. He brings his face closer to a description on the paper while Mordecai looks over to Rigby. Rigby looks over to Mordecai, and Mordecai turns back to the road.

Why did Mordecai give him _that_ look? Rigby stares at Mordecai. Here is the typical situation Rigby knows where Mordecai is secretive of something he hides. Now he's secretive about the glovebox. But why does Mordecai look like he's annoyed?

Mordecai pretends as if he didn't look at him. He is still noticeably jogging thoughts in his mind as before, but more intensely. He tightens his grasp on the steering wheel and straightens up to the road in front of him. The car fills with awkwardness as Rigby continues to stare and not say anything. "I'm not talking about it," Mordecai says, breaking the silence.

Rigby didn't respond and continues to stare.

"What dude? You have something to say?" Mordecai continues.

Rigby stops staring and looks down toward the floor of the car.

Mordecai sighs.

"I wasn't going to," Rigby says, "What about the nightshift; what are we doing? Aren't we supposed to sort papers or something?"

"Yeah," Mordecai says suprisedly.

"But why are we doing this again?" Rigby asks.

"Well, Benson needs to clear out storage for more room for things."

"How long is that going to take?"

"He said it'll be from nine to a bit later after midnight."

"Tonight's going to suck!"

"Think smart. The faster you work, the faster it'll be over."

"No. It's something else I gotta do tomorrow and I don't like thinking about my job."

Rigby looks down while calculating something. He takes out his phone and flips through his contacts to someone named Front Desk.

"Hello, this is Harkins from Featmeisters International front desk, how can I help you?" Harkins says.

"Hi, can you take me over to someone in the garage?"

"The garage has been closed tonight."

"OK, can you write a note for them?"

"Will this be for anyone in specific?"

"No. Ugh, nah, don't write a note. Can you figure out the price of getting a radiator fixed?"

"Your radiator? What happened?"

"It overheated, and I need it fixed, really soon. Like tomorrow-soon."

"Rigby, you gotta see if the motorcycle will drive before you assume it's fried."

"But it is _really_ fried."

"Oh, it screwed with something else on your bike?"

"No, just the radiator."

"Oh. I'll get you price then. Is this it for you?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Bye."

Mordecai asks, "What was that all about?"

"Trying to figure out about getting a whole new radiator. I'm probably going to need to borrow the college's bikes."

"Why don't you get a new bike; isn't the one you have a bit old?"

"No Mordecai. It was one of the few only things I've bought with _all_ of my money at once at a bad time. You helped me be able to not eat stuff like chicken ramen every night."

Mordecai didn't reply. He continues to drive as if he didn't say anything.

"Mordecai," Rigby asks, "there's something big on your mind?"

"No. I'm a little stressed out, man," Mordecai says, turning the wheel.

"That's a little sweat you're breaking out."

Mordecai sweeps his arm across his forehead, wetting his feathers on his arm. But the sweat collects and makes trails down his face. He realizes and says, "Yeah, a little stressed."

"That's bullshit."

"What is?"

"You forgot I went to college and now about my bike."

"Your bike isn't as important as college."

Rigby gawks at Mordecai.

Mordecai frowns, "Look dude, I've been busy all day-"

"Yeah, I get that rap; you're always busy. But Mordecai? My bike isn't important for a school specializing in auto racing? Are you even thinking?"

"I'm just trying to say that getting your degree is important than riding your motorcycle. Ok?"

"But you don't know it's that my bike that wins races?"

"No dude, it's your finals that matter. Dude, why do races even matter?"

"You don't understand; it's that the more I win races, the higher rank I am in my class. The rank I finish at the end of the year determines if I'm in top class or get in a higher class. At the end of the day, doing well in races is what matters. And if I don't win more than three races, I'm dead."

"How many did you win this year?"

"Few."

"You're good, right?"

"Not good enough. My bike's just doing good enough. Besides, just about everyone has realized to buy and optimize the best bikes such that pure luck is the only thing that can make you win."

"Maybe hard work could help."

"It's not like I don't work hard enough already, but everyone's putting in their best now."

Rigby snarls, "Look man, I can think about this crap later. This crap isn't good to think about all at once. I'm going to have to tackle all of this on Monday."

"So forgetting about racing for now -well, how does your college even function?"

"What'd you mean?"

"An auto-racing college on its own is weird and isn't really academic, right?"

"You're right; though it seems like it is on its own, it used to be the School of Auto-mechanics and Auto-racing of Yoshi University-"

"Wait, Yoshi University? How'd you even get in?"

Rigby sighs and looks at Mordecai again.

"Just jog my memory, Rigby," Mordecai says.

Rigby shakes his head, "What do you remember man?"

"Just about you going to school where you raced a lot. I haven't thought too much of it."

"Hm. Actually it's even longer ago."

"What? When?"

"High school."  
"High school? I'd remember vaguely about it."

"Ok, you know high school wasn't OK. I didn't survive. But, we used to skateboard and race bikes before and after school as a way to feel better."

"Yeah?"  
"So, you always beat me on the race to home, but you'd beat me by your bike's front tire. That made feel like I could beat you the next time, but you kept beating me as much as I tried. So, I remember going to hang out with the other skateboarders and guys so that I could get good enough to beat you. They didn't like me at first and they pushed me around and wanted me to leave their rink. But I needed to just beat you once, so I had to keep going. They finally accepted me after I kept going over and over again. I saw from them that there was so much more in racing and skateboarding. And I loved it. And I loved doing it too. Then one day, some older guys in suits were watching us, and they came over to offer us to do competitive skateboarding for money. They gave us money right on the spot! It was a wild feeling then to feel that I could actually do something excellent for someone, at least for money. But, that did give me hope surviving in life, you know."

"Wow. But you never told me this before."

"I didn't?"

"No. But how'd you get into Yoshi?"

"You're the one who made things possible so that I could get into Yoshi. Featmeisters needed some of the smooth skills that I had; thanks to those skateboarders teaching me. Featmeisters was interested in me enough to ask Yoshi to admit me. Then Yoshi would let me in in trade for my 'potential for higher education' for my athletic courses. And then, I got an invitation in the mail."

"But dude, you didn't graduate-"

"I know, but they kinda went around the rules and reeducated me about high school topics in college. And now that's done and I'm doing stupid college classes."

"How are they?"

"They _make_ me do well on my courses so that my GPA is barely over a two point zero."

"So are there any As in there?"

"No, all of them are Cs."

"Though that means you're doing better than most people are academically. And you know more than most people. And oh! I have a better question: what are you going to major in?"

"Something in sports, or what they call performing-something."

"No, I mean academically."

"Ah? I dunno. They're just throwing a bunch of subjects at me that I don't like."

"What do you like the most?"

"None of them."

"Well, do you have a favorite professor?"

Rigby snarls and says, "No. And dude, this is just as unfun to talk about as it was about high school. But Featmeisters is amazing. They let you work with other big organizations," Rigby smiles, "like IAVAR. Sometimes I race in IAVAR."

"Dude?" Mordecai says.

"Yeah man, the actual, legit International Association for Vehicular Auto Racing. Haven't you seen me sometimes on TV? I usually finish in the top ten when I race."

"That's cool, but how did all of this happen?"

"Anyone in Featmeisters can race in IAVAR, if they apply. And I did. Now I can race for businesses, big corporations, or whatever, and be paid. But I don't race often, again, I'm a motorcyclist, not a car racer."

"So what else about Featmeisters?"

"There's a whole lot of things to do there, to be honest. Tomorrow, I might just go with my buddies and race in the tunnel."

"The tunnel?"

"It's a underground tunnel called The Grand: it's ten miles long and snakes between the surface and underground. It's really awesome. We could go racing there if you know how to race your car."

"I don't know about that, I just got this car."

"A Porsche can definitely race."

"I really like this car man. So no."

"Do you know how to use a motorcycle?"

"Is it like riding a bike?"

"Yeah. It's all really about just balancing. If you don't, I can teach you. Then we could start racing again."

"Oh. Heh."

"Are you interested?"

"Maybe sometime later."

"Ok. So. What have you been doing lately?"

Mordecai pauses for a moment. He continues and says, "A lot of things."

"Such as?" Rigby asks.

"Planning."

"Oh yeah, that stuff. For the park's events?"

"Yeah. I have to plan and schedule for this and next month and show Benson it; although there's no one coming to the park and nothing interesting is happening."

"You mean by no one, as those guys who always come to set up that carnival?"

"Yeah, and those others."

Rigby laughs, "Why don't we try doing something different, like that party one time?"

"No!" Mordecai exclaims, "Benson's going to fire us; you remember what happened."

"But he doesn't have to; my birthday is in a few days."

Mordecai realizes he forgot about Rigby's birthday. He says, "Rigby-"

"Hey! Van!" Rigby exclaims, reaching towards the steering wheel.

Mordecai pushes back Rigby's hands, while he spots the van stopped in the middle of the street.

Mordecai presses the brakes, jolting the car to a quick stop. The pizza and Rigby's backpack thuds onto the floor. The a car behind him braked hard enough to tap his bumper.

"Jackass!" Someone shouts, flicking off Mordecai while driving around Mordecai's car.

Mordecai takes his hands off of the steering wheel for a moment and places them on his lap.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rigby asks.

"Shut up, Rigby!" Mordecai shouts, replacing his hands back and looking in the rear-view mirror to see what's happening behind him. Several cars are stopped behind him. More cars honk and drive around him. Once the last car passes, Mordecai accelerates again around the van.

"Dude?" Rigby says.

"Just hold it for now-" Mordecai says.

"Stop!" Rigby shouts.

"What!?" Mordecai says, "I don't want to talk right now-"

"No, shut up and look!" Rigby says, pointing through the windshield to a mass of people gathered in front of the street.

"What?" Mordecai says, stopping the car. He begins to realize the roar of people shouting rushing in at once.

"D-dude, back up!" Rigby says.

Mordecai places the gear in reverse and pulls back.

"No," Rigby says to himself in disbelief at what he is thinking.

"Hey, It's not what you're thinking. But, I don't know," Mordecai says, veering his car on a empty sidewalk. He switches the gear back to drive.

"Are you blind? That looks more than a thousand _angry_ people -in the Electric District!"

"Yeah. Ok," Mordecai says, focusing on where he and Rigby are located and if the crowd is moving closer.

"But they set fire to those buildings down there! There isn't control!"

"There is, dude. Don't doubt it."

"It's going to get worse! Isn't Surge supposed to be doing anarchy prevention?"

"Yes."

"If there's no control, then how can Surge fix this mess?"

"I said Surge is doing anarchy prevention. Besides dude, if something happened to Surge, everyone would've stayed inside their homes. And if you look at it, the people near to us aren't violent."

"Where is Surge?"

Mordecai looks forward to the crowd. The nearest layer of people are bystanders, looking from a distance into the mass. Another layer hides behind the first, but they are more dense. Then there is the inferno. It is an open ground showing a number of buildings ablaze. They cast a red glow and haze onto the surrounding buildings, the sky, and a person running away from someone. Suddenly, there are yells of danger and to run: The person running away sprints to a building and hurls a brick through a window. The person chasing the runner also throws his backpack through the same window. Then another person comes late after the chaser, but throws another object farther away and with good aim to make through the window. The three people take their nearest way out of sight, into the dancing shadows of the building. The near layer of people begin to disperse rapidly away, fleeing into distant buildings and alleys. Someone makes a fainter yell, then a blast. A quick plume of hot gas and smoke crumbles and scatters the building into fragments, sending a breath-taking shockwave to the car.

"Oh shit!" Rigby exclaims as he begins to panic. He places his hands on the door handle for a moment and then back to bracing the seat by the palms of his hand. He goes to the door again, but comes back to the seat. "See! Prowlers! No one here can do that!" he says while trying to find something to do with his hands.

Mordecai changes the gear and places his hands on the wheel, "This is bad."

"Code Orange, over. There's a substantial escalation of the matter of the riot in the Plaza's Electric District. We've been solicited by Cerberus Cooperation to patrol the perimeter of the district as backup," a voice says.

Rigby has a confused look; there is an imperative voice coming from the glovebox in front of him. Mordecai jumps to the glovebox and unlocks it. A radio falls in front of Rigby and continues to state, "This radio is designated for off-patrol-" Mordecai grabs the radio with both of his hands and presses a button on the radio to complete the message, "Copy that." The rest of the papers begin to slide out to fill the floor. Mordecai takes his hand to try to keep the papers from sliding. But enough papers have fallen that Rigby sees a gun nested in papers in front of him. Rigby is startled at it, backing nowhere into his seat. Mordecai releases the button of the radio and jumps again to grab the rest of the shuffled papers. He snatches and balls up all the papers off of Rigby's lap and the floor, stuffing each ball swiftly on top of the gun and into the glovebox. He finally tries to shut it, but the box springs open again. Mordecai punches it shut. Looking aside to Rigby, Rigby's eyes are still stuck on the glovebox as if he could see through to the gun. He quickly looks up to Mordecai in surprise.

"Fuck!" Mordecai curses as he reclines back into his seat. Then he presses the button, "I'm Mordecai Scott in a ton of crap; ten six, over."

The radio continues, "Scott-"

 **Crick**! Mordecai turns off the radio, but keeps his thumb on the button. Rigby is staring at Mordecai with his radio.

He pauses, takes a breath, and begins to speak, "Hey, Thomas! Stop it! You copy this? This isn't funny, or not really cool, that you're saying these things. This is a game. This is a joke. Please shut up! Thanks. Over."

A cloud of smoke hovers to the car, settling finer pieces of dust onto the windshield and the car hood.

"Rigby," Mordecai says, suddenly remembering his location and looking back over.

Rigby is shaking his head, placing his hand on the handle.

"OK, look. I didn't expect you to see that, OK? Just bear with me for now."

Rigby couldn't say anything.

"Listen, we need to get out of here if we can. I'm not the only person in tough shit right now," Mordecai says, placing his hands onto his lap. "This is the worst time to doubt or change the way you think about me, dude. The worst. Bear with me, please."

Rigby looks to the glovebox again.

Mordecai begins to speak but he stops himself. Then he says, "I have a gun there for a good reason, like in the situation we are in now."

Rigby wasn't changing his look.

Mordecai points towards the inferno and says, "That situation."

Rigby looks towards where Mordecai points.

"Rigby, say something. You're making me uncomfortable."

Rigby didn't say anything.

"Don't you trust me with a gun?"

Rigby looks back to the radio in his hand and says, "What was that about?"

"Uh," Mordecai says, throwing the radio to the back seats out of sight and out of reach. "They -Thomas, and Muscle Man- were joking about the riot. They see the riot on TV too, so they just wanted to mess with us."

"The guy on the radio didn't sound anything like Thomas or Muscle Man, Mordecai."

"He always sounds like Thomas."

"The guy on the radio couldn't be him or Muscle Man, because they don't speak like that or have that tone. And they don't joke about this crap either."

"Look, turn on the radio."

"Bullshit, stop trying to change the subject!"

Mordecai unlocks the doors.

"Dude? What are you doing man?"

"We need to know what's actually going on here. You say Surge isn't operating tonight, remember?"

"If you had your survival skills, you'd know to not dive into this crap."

"It's fine, I'm just going to ask one of them what has happened."

Mordecai unfastens his seatbelt and opens the door. Rigby grabs Mordecai's arm and says, "Mordecai! I still don't want you to get hurt or die!"

Mordecai shrugs off Rigby, "I'm going to see if I can see if there's anarchy prevention at all." Mordecai says, walking outside.

Rigby takes a breath. He is going to forgive Mordecai for what happened, but not with his trust. This is the last time where he is going to let Mordecai speak with strangers who talked funny. Or let alone how the guy on the radio knew so fast that he and Mordecai were in danger. The guy on the radio is in touch with Cerberus, but what did solicit mean? Forget the guy, that gun is a bigger problem. What has Mordecai done with it: did he shoot someone or has he been in some serious trouble? Why is it even in his car?

Rigby turns the car radio on and finds a broadcast report describing a frisky but deadly riot in the Electric District. He then looks to Mordecai walking toward someone. The crowd of people repel from him. The surprised eyes of the crowd see Mordecai's sweaty and messy crest and his soaked hoodie; it looks like he were to be running around like the criminals in the riot. Mordecai stops and stands looking at the crowd, while the crowd also stops.

Mordecai yells, "Hey, I'm not a prowler! Me and my friend just want to know what happened!"

A guy comes from the crowd timidly toward Mordecai. The guy looks up and down Mordecai to judge his shabby appearance. They start to converse. Then they look back to the car. Mordecai waves off at the person and comes back to the car. He re-enters the car, saying, "I know what's going on. It's just a disaster."

Rigby is speaking to a person on his phone, saying, "I don't know if Surge is handling it."

Mordecai sighs.

The person on the line insists, "We know they were. But we've sent backup anyway, despite Surge telling us that there are twenty-one at the site. And thus far, they had contained the riot really well. It's not so much anymore: there's suddenly damage."

Rigby looks confused and looks outside to the riot. Where is a single policeman? The ground begins to rumble, and the car begins to shake. Mordecai and Rigby turn to look at a tank crawling forward.

"But if Surge were to have one more man on the ground, they wouldn't be needing backup now, they'd probably even have ended the riot. Anyways, anything else I can getcha?" The person says.

"No? There's a tank that is just rolling through?" Rigby says.

"Yeah, that's us. Whenever people see our name, Cerberus Corp., they'll get in control. Anyways, you got what you need?"

"Sure. Bye," Rigby says while the other person says goodbye and hangs up. Rigby replaces his phone into his pocket. The tank slows down at the first and second layer of people which parted to let the tank through. The tank continues further to crawl to the riot.

"What did you mean by disaster?" Rigby asks.

Mordecai explains, "Garment had required something stupid to Linnen, which caused us to peacefully protest against it. But some prowlers came and made it violent by taking advantage of making our numbers look bad. But what you see now is the result of everyone reacting against it - I mean it's not everyone. When this happened, I heard about mostly everyone trying to leave. Or it's that people can't leave because there's apartments and hotels down there."

"Let's just get out of here," Rigby says.

"Yeah," Mordecai says, driving out and away from the chaos. He makes it for the street leading home.

The car radio begins to mention, "There has been more than one hundred injured and an unknown amount of casualties. The cost is at an estimated three billion wheatneedles."

Rigby turns off the radio.  
"Dude, you shouldn't," Mordecai says shaking his head, "we need to stay in the know."

"No," Rigby says.

"I'm certain this is one of those annual attacks of X Nation."

"Yeah, but I don't want to hear it."

"Why?"

"It's not good."

"It's not that us hearing about hurt people, it's about hearing if the riot is going to spread."

"What?"

"We need to actually take care of ourselves."

"So what's the point of listening to what we saw?"

"We need to know if this spreads to another district."

"Dude, I know. And that's 'if' you say. And it's also the 'annual' problem you say. It's Linnen's problem anyway."

"Dude, there's more to it than that."

"It's just very repetitive, although new people have to get hurt or die each time."

"Still, though."

"What do you mean? Have you seen the population count?"

"Dude, you know people die a lot from these things."

"Then why hasn't anyone done anything about it, man?"

"I don't know, Rigby."

"So every time prowlers blow up a district, we have to turn on the radio and hear that hundreds of people die. That's every year."

"So what Rigby; it's not like several years ago. We still got to help ourselves."

"You aren't hearing me."

"What's your point?"

"Repetition. Even yourself is sounding like a broken record."

"I keep the same strategy so that we don't die."

"So? You're saying the same thing."

"Listen, I'm emphasizing that we don't get ourselves killed. And I'm also saying that I want to keep doing things as we are doing them now. We aren't dead. At least not yet."

"You almost drove us into the middle of a riot tonight, dude."

"I didn't know there was a riot."

"Why didn't you?"

"You didn't know either, man."

"I do."

"Whatever."

The safeline between the Electric District and home has been crossed as Mordecai and Rigby crosses a railway. Rigby slouches back into his seat as the car passes through.

"I just wish we can just move to Cotton."

"Rigby?"

"Forget what I said."

"We _can't_ move."

"Ok. Then why don't we move in with our parents again?"

"Our mom and dad aren't going to like that. Why do you even want to move in with your parents?"

"They're our parents, man."

"I know."  
"Then you should also know it's all good. We're just there to get a head start before we get our own homes."

"We don't have enough of anything to do that, dude. Not even passports."

"I think I'd live in our parent's house illegally than to live next to what the Electric District had shown. You agree, man?"

"That's for you to say."

"Dude?"

Mordecai pauses. He continues to say, "I don't know. Maybe it's me."

"What's wrong with our parents?"

"Nothing."

"You know they love you?"

"I do, but."

"But?"  
"I don't know."

"What is it?"

Mordecai pauses again. "It's me. Don't worry about what I say," Mordecai continues again.

"You disagree about something."

"Rigby, I'm not connected with mom and dad like that."

"Wait. You don't love our parents?"

"That's not-"

"Mordecai!" Rigby yells.

"Rigby! I-"

Rigby grabs Mordecai's hoodie and points out the window to an incoming train.

Mordecai slams the brake before bumping into the falling guard arms. The arm bends to help slow Mordecai's car. The car comes to rest.

"Are you kidding me, Mordecai? A train!?" Rigby exclaims.

"Rigby!" Mordecai says, placing his arms back onto his lap.

"What man? Do you want me to drive?"

"You can't even see over the steering wheel, Rigby."

"Hey man, what's wrong with you?"

"You fucking piss me off with that shit."

The train passes, and a car behind Mordecai begins to honk its horn.

"What are you doing?" Rigby starts to pester Mordecai with more questions.

The car's driver drives to Mordecai's window to cuss out Mordecai and drive away.

Mordecai begins to press his palms against his face.

"Dude. Mordecai? I'm just trying to help you." Rigby sighs, "Home is just right ahead."

Mordecai slides his hands off his face, "Your ride home is about over; mine is barely over." He begins to drive forward.

"What?"

"Shut up, Rigby."

"What's wrong with you?"

"I really want you to shut the fuck up. Please."

"No, what's wrong with you?"

"Not this bullshit again, dude."

"I'm serious."

"I'm serious too."

"What do mean by your ride?"

"I have places to be."

"Like that surgery?"

"Shit Rigby, what about it?"

"Is that going to work for tonight while you have work?"

Mordecai sighs, "I dunno."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I've rescheduled it."

"So, you're saying that you're going to be here tonight?"

"Yeah," Mordecai speaks too soon, but he continues, "But I gotta pick up a load of boxes from the store for Benson," he pulls into the driveway of the park.

"Well, OK," Rigby says, backing off of that subject. "For a while now, hardly anyone knows how you really are anymore."

"How many times have I told you that I was fine this year?"

"It's just that you lie every time you say that."

"I'd like to you to know that, again, I am fine-"

"You're going to lie in my face again?"

Silence.

"You're a real, annoying nuisance. I'd rather have you just fuck off for fuck's sake honestly."

"What?" Rigby pushes Mordecai's arm.

Silence.

"You think I am annoying?" Rigby asked.

Mordecai shakes his head, trying to unhear Rigby's heated words.

"What about these many times where I started a real conversation that matters like this one? Do they not matter because I'm annoying whenever I start one?"

"What don't you understand that I'm fine despite those conversations! And do you think I am lying to you?"

"Yes!"

"I'm not-"

"No, listen! It's a fact that you're in bad health and you can't lie to me about something that is not going on. Mordecai, I care, rather than everyone else that has gotten used to you-"

"I don't care!" Mordecai says, stopping the car in front of the house.

"Well-" Rigby stops himself. Mordecai doesn't care for his concern anymore.

Mordecai didn't continue.

Silence.

Rigby sighs and unbuckles his seatbelt. He continues, "Well, I tried," feeling like quitting on not assuming him well.

Mordecai slumps back into his seat.

"Nice to say I'm a nuisance," Rigby says and pops the door open. He slides out of the seat, and shuts the door. He walks toward the house's door, unlocks it, and enters the house. Rigby turns back to see what is Mordecai doing. Mordecai is looking at him, but he turns away. The door shuts. Mordecai pulls back out to the driveway, turning around to drive to his next destination.


	3. Chapter 3 - Entrance

Nuisance is inescapable. It will always be until Mordecai spits his secret out. He has his life's bullshit coming by in soured lemons, but it more so takes the form of Rigby. Why Rigby? Mordecai's secret is supposed to be between the teller and the holding. But Rigby changes the definition. He knows that Mordecai's secret isn't held by anyone but himself. There is no between; so is it not fair for Rigby to be there to hold it? Besides, Mordecai is on the verge of choking it up. The guy can't keep his walkie-talkie off. He can be a hitman; a murderer with a handgun in his glove box. But Rigby knows Mordecai isn't a killer. He did mention that he has them for self-defense.

Rigby remembers that he stands in front of the park's door, staring at the lock. The door is thin or Benson is yelling too loud about everyone must gather in the kitchen. Should Rigby enter? Or should he skip work? If Rigby skips work, then he's going to get the trouble Mordecai is going to get. But he's not going to get fired. Besides, he doesn't have any other place to be. The outdoor air begs for attention as it carries the scent of burnt earth and minute warmth. Rigby reckons to grab his keys because it is more disturbing to stand in the atmosphere where people have died. With the house key in hand, he sticks it in the lock and twists the key. The door unbolts itself, and cracks open to another world. It is much clearer now: Benson's voice is behind the kitchen walls while Thomas and Muscleman are walking down the stairs.

"What's up bro?" Muscleman calls over to Rigby.

Thomas also calls, "Rigby! You've just walked into something here."

Rigby closes the door and locks the door and says, "I'm just in time." The air has been conditioned cool and fresh, introducing him the delight of being at the worksite. Though, the welcome mat underneath Rigby's feet isn't rough as Rigby swipes his feet, its 'Welcome" is appropriate for once. Stepping onto the carpet, the hallway is also a reminder of how clear air can be. From seeing the table pushed on the wall next to him, the old, framed pictures of Pops hang accompanied by the new light fixtures down the hallway to the back.

Thomas and Muscleman move and wait near the kitchen door, waiting for Rigby to put his things down.

Muscleman observes the pizza box in Rigby's hands, "Where have you been?"

"The cafe with Mordecai," Rigby says, swinging his backpack to the frame of the front door.

"For how long?"

"An hour, I think. He has to run."

"Rigby!" Benson yells, "Kitchen. Now!"

Rigby sighs and walks over to the kitchen to be with the park crew. Their faces reflected the serious matter that is going to unfold. Right next to Rigby, Thomas is downcast towards his shoes. Muscleman crosses his arms and leans against the door frame. Skips leans against the counter. Then Benson stands next to the kitchen table.

"Did Mordecai come along?" Benson asks Rigby.

Rigby shakes his head.

"Of course," Benson says, observing his notes from his clipboard on the table. He looks at them and then pushes them aside. The TV on the kitchen counter displays the amount of the riot's casualties and injuries so far. Meanwhile, the newscast debates the effectiveness of anarchy prevention, the likelihood of anarchy to recur, and expelling prowlers. But Benson zapped the TV off with a remote in a middle of their sentence.

He says, "I'm going straight to the point. Riots are supposed to be riots. But tonight, they have been substantially worse than ever. And that's why we're together here. If these riots worsen, then we're in trouble with another anarchy. You guys know about the one-hundred deaths in the one explosion. That wasn't too long ago, and it set a higher level of violence for following attacks. EMPs and highway bombings then have been good enough to get us where we are with their technology exploits and building demolition. Now, there are two hundred deaths and another ravaged district. In response, Linnen has no war resolutions and can't take their hits now or previously without mismanaging it. And our neighbor, Cotton and Cerberus, convince us that prowlers are put back in their place. But the clan evidently isn't a weakening force."

Rigby mentions the fact of redundancy, "This is the same argument that everyone says."

"Rigby? What?" Benson says.

"It's not a big deal," Rigby replies, speaking underneath his breath.

"Rigby? What did you say?" Benson asks.

Rigby moves to say something, but the backlash on his boss would bring the question of his respect.

"Speak up!" Bensons demands. But Rigby didn't say anything.

Benson is staring at Rigby, hoping he might spit out his words. But Rigby looks down towards his feet. Benson begins to speak again, "Sure, this is an argument you can find on any news channel, Rigby. But here's something you don't hear often. The corporations are hiding their potentials. Surge is kind enough to put their elites on full-duty and Cerberus to make new promises. Though as us as people, we're in trouble for having our assets become fragile to these riots too. Such as debating in such a way that our focuses have the wrong attitude. You know: how worse can a prowler attack become? Is one of us a prowler? Though, there are better arguments of whether the rebellion should be expelled, isolated, or eliminated. If you haven't noticed, these questions aren't asked on TV. But clearly, when some people pick sides on some arguments, we split. Division is never good for Garment. It's the cause for the long recuperation of the Anarchy. Finally, there's a lot to blame, but this is where we come along. Rigby?"

Rigby looks up from the ground.

Benson continues, "You've withstood the longest in the Anarchy along with Mordecai, right?"

Rigby nods.

"I remember I got documents about you guys that state you had stayed extensively in the wilderness, were dangerous and trained with military-grade firearms, captured by Cerberus, and was on the prowler watchlist. Rigby is an example of endurance. Everyone else except him and Mordecai have different, feasible stories of being relieved from the Anarchy."

Skips speaks up, "So what's your point?"

"The Anarchy was a hardship. We come along, as the park crew, to congregate our abilities and attributes. We've already become family, but we need to think more about ourselves as an unit. Tonight is enough of a hardship for us to begin securing our gates."

Skips continues, "You're insisting that Linnen is unsuitable to handle the riots?"

"Riots are becoming deadlier and deadlier. So, afraid with your guy's well-being, I'm going to do something about it. And you guys should too."

Skips argues, "Then why don't we hire a Surge policeman?"

"Why not take no cost and take security in our own hands?"

"Even if we take the means to prevent something from happening to us, that also means one or more of us may get hurt or die. That's why we have prevention, Benson."

"We have prevention now, yes, but when there's a riot that overwhelms Linnen, our policeman isn't going to think about us first. Where will be prevention then? Again, it's not a matter of if. This _will_ happen."

"Anyways, you know how one policeman becomes more tactical?"

"Sure, Surge does have elite soldiers they're just bringing out."

"And you've mentioned that Surge has unknown potential."

"What's your point?"

"If Surge alone is bringing out a whole new tier of even more adept policemen, then wouldn't the rebellion be suppressed?"

"Yes. But can one policeman prevent what prowlers will bring next?"

"Just because what happened tonight happened doesn't mean it's a prerequisite to gradual, complete devastation."

"But Skips, what if it will be?"

"If it's complete devastation, then we're all dead. Nonetheless, who are we combined compared to a policeman?"

"Who are we if we all die without trying?"

"Damn it, Benson. Let's just let the authorities get to their potential."

"Skips, you know prowlers don't only target Surge or even Cerberus. We need to protect ourselves. We could against Snowballs, The Destroyer of Worlds, or the Geese, didn't we?"

"Right, but we've been unexposed."

"But this is of our ability, correct?"

"Benson, you're not getting what's really important. The harm or deaths of us isn't yours to decide." Skips begins to point at Thomas, "He is the one to decide whether or not to do what he pleases. He has a damn will, damn it."

"I'm not making anyone do anything."

"You're sure asking us to."

"This is what I want: I want us to be independent when the time comes. I can compromise with our reliance on Surge, but that's only until Linnen is screwed."

Thomas speaks, "None of us agree to this."

Benson pauses again. This time it is longer and awkward. But Benson finds something to say, "I'm not making anyone do anything. I'm just going to do what I think best for myself. I don't know about you guys, but I wanted to say something. I want to do more for you guys, too. I mean, you guys have appreciated the backup generators and our arsenal."

Skips says, "For me, I don't want you go any farther with this independence stuff. We're a family, not guerillas. I know you respect our opinions, but I don't want you to go on your own and make this house an outpost. I don't want you to go and blast a trespasser when the guy could be one of us. There's consequences."

"I'm reiterating that we're an unit and a family. I'm not going to shoot anyone. There's no way I'd shoot any of us on accident."

"I think the rebellion and the distress has done bad enough on you. But it's only fair to think what distress has done to us, too."

Muscleman argues, "Let's just focus on what we have already. Life's pretty good than it was a few years ago. It's not going straight to hell yet."

Skips and Thomas agrees.

And Benson agrees, "Fine. We'll make with what he have without going to the extremes. Along with this, can Rigby help us all concur?"

Rigby says, "My pizza is going cold," and walks to the refrigerator and puts the pizza inside. "But I'd like power when another prowler EMP goes off: that way I can eat."

Benson says, "You like what we have already?"

"Not only that. Prowlers, believe it or not, aren't first on my mind. I have another career to focus on too. I can't help myself it's tight at home, y'know?"

"Seriously, you agree with everyone else?"

"I agree that it's good to focus on what we have. Also, let's not screw up what he have in the future for self-defense."

Thomas, Skips, and Muscleman agree.

Benson says, "Fine. We all agree that we should focus on what we have and that each of us should determine their own futures?"

Everyone agrees. Benson mentions, "Alright. Now, don't forget the arsenal is in the meat locker. And to not forget about work," Benson picks up his clipboard and flips a few pages, "we need to dust off that archive." He points to the box of various-sized gloves, normal and special dust masks, and an unopened package of storage bins. "This is an overnight job, so Skips and I took care of caffeine and hunger for you guys. Right next to skips, is the coffee machine ready to go with a three dozens of glazed donuts on the side." Skips demonstrates his need for caffeine by pushing the brew button. Benson continues, "With our roles, Skips is on labeling. Ask him if there's any documents without a date, title, or is unorganized. Unorganized means that the papers are not in alphabetical or sequential order. Thomas is on sorting. He will be placing papers back into alphabetical or their sequential order. Thomas, Skips is your guide for what papers goes with what. Muscleman, you'll also sort. Rigby, you're the trashman. You'll get rid of broken or torn boxes, baskets, or bins. He will be taking them to the dumpster. Everyone, if you have ruined, blank, or moldy papers, Rigby will take them there. And most importantly, please do not throw away antique containers, Rigby. Finally, I am packaging. There's some documents we will be shipping to a warehouse and some to a museum. Most of the documents will stay here, where I will take the organized and sorted documents and replace them into new bins. I will also be taking care of taking down the old bins from their shelves when we get up there. Anyways, does everyone understand their job?"

Everyone nods.

Benson continues, "Everyone grab supplies and go to the attic," he says grabbing gloves and a dust mask. He then leaves the kitchen.

Skips follows, grabbing larger gloves and a dust mask.

Thomas and Muscleman walk out next, taking their gloves and dust masks.

Rigby is last to grab the smallest gloves and the special dust mast. He walks out popping the collars out on his jacket. Then he says to himself, "Let's get to it."

* * *

Mordecai approaches a set of steps leading to the entrance of a ruined, older building. He descends and turns back to see if anyone is watching. No one is there. But there are stairs going up to a receding portal, illuminated by the moonlight's faint light on the damp bricks. He continues to descend until he steps on the landing, barely seeing himself standing in front of a sentinel door. He steps up to the door and moves his hands to the iron handle, wraps them around, and pulls the door. It squeaks and hovers open by its weight and makes a hard current of hot air. There is the sight of a great void where his vision seems to be pulling into it. He walks forward, looking side to side, entering the basement. He shut the door behind him. **SLAM!** The noise echoes, and bounces across in the interior of the building. He pulls a flashlight, turning it on. Its beam is a floating bubble that manifested ground for his feet wherever he searched the floor with it. He looks with it to see if anyone is camping next to the door or around it. No one, but thousands of thousands of footprints in the dust that covered the floor like snow. Some of them looked undisturbed for years; while some look like they were created minutes ago. Some look familiar. The worst fact of them is that some will be created eventually not only by himself, but by a stranger. He doesn't want anyone to stumble onto or find him. He continues to walk again, and points the beam in front of his shoes, toward the unchanging, dusty floor. He walks until the beam hits a wall. He moves the beam upward, revealing the wall more, then he moves it to the right to reveal a doorless room. He walks to the room through another boundless void. He finds another wall and takes another right into another room. He walks a series of lefts, rights, u-turns, catwalks, ladders, and multiple stairs leading down, further underground, until he begins to feel a coolness in the air. This means he is close. He walks another series until his flashlight reveals a break in a wall. He climbs through and walks left through a long corridor. Another right turn, he faces another corridor with a soft, peach-colored light at the end. He walks down the corridor, as the dust he used to sweep with his shoes comes to an end. The floor became bare and concrete but marked with a few footprints. Mordecai turns off his flashlight, as he approaches the light. When the light comes over his head, he descends a short flight of stairs and takes another right. He takes one more right, leading to a great opening in a wall that reveals white searchlights peering in towards Mordecai. A gate and its guards blocked off a complex of buildings and towers.

"Scott!" Someone says, laughing, "Glad to see that you're back at work!"

"Nice watching your ass get beat last night," someone else says.

"Scott!" Another one of them says approaching him, "You want to get in my face again?"

Mordecai walks forward to the gate ahead, ignoring him. But the guy comes to confront him, "Hey! I'm talkin' to you!"

The guy has the clothing that could always tell if somebody challenged him. His eyes are looking for anger and defeat but his fists are stained red. His body has always been untouched because anyone who fought him could only grab his shirt.

Mordecai stops to walk around him, but he didn't let him.

"You want to get in my face again?" He says again, getting into Mordecai's face.

"No," Mordecai says, turning his head to look aside.

"Then you step back then," he says.

Mordecai steps aside him saying, "I don't want any bullshit."

"Not anymore?" The guy says as he grabs Mordecai's shoulder, "You started it. Let's finish it," the guy says, pulling Mordecai back in front of him. "You know, I hate losers, the ignorant, the inexperienced, and the uncalled for. By the looks of it, you're gonna be us. And I can pick you apart until you're like us," he says.

"You're the only one who has been ejected here officially," Mordecai says.

"That's not the point. You're lost!" He continues.

"You're not here to help Surge like them." He says, pointing to the gate. "You're here to hit harder like us."

"I'm here to help," Mordecai says.

"Look at what you're sayin'! You mean otherwise, reject," he says.

Mordecai starts to ignore him and walk away from him, but the guy grabs his shoulder again.

"Damn it, I don't want to fight you right now?" Mordecai says, making his fists, "We'll fight later," he says, walking off.

"I'm not done talkin' with you," the guy says.

Mordecai ignores him.

"You don't walk away from me when I'm talkin' to you," the guy says while catching up to Mordecai, and pushing him onto the ground.

"Fight now, or I'll drag your face in the dirt," the guy says.

Mordecai jumps back up after the guy. He motions to throw a punch at the guy, but he feels solid iron hit his jaw followed by another hit to the face. Mordecai moves a few steps back to refocus on the guy, who makes a smile that shows a longed desire being satisfied. From the wall in the distance, the guy's friends start to yell, rooting for the guy. Mordecai spits to the side and says, "Fuck it!" But a guard steps to the side of the fight and shakes his head. The guy lowers his other fist that was aiming lower to Mordecai's gut. The guard returns to his guarding of the gate.

"Don't worry. I'll kick your ass later," the guy says, returning to the wall.

Mordecai spits again and flicks him off. He walks to the guard to flash his ID.

"You shouldn't be getting in trouble like that," the guard says, gesturing a sign above his head.

"You should've done something. I hate that guy." Mordecai says.

"You should worry about cleaning yourself up and not looking like a jackass," the guard says, "You're a part of Surge. That guy also isn't helping you to realize you look like a wrung, wet towel."

"Thanks, dude," Mordecai says as he walks to gate.

The gate crawls open to let Mordecai enter.


	4. Chapter 4 - Sci-Fi Knights : Part 1

Mordecai's few steps through the gate proves his reputation: swift to move away from the previous scene and careful to transit to his new scene. But to his sight, the soldiers stop to stare him down to a stand still. At this moment, being aware of his surroundings has never been so acute. There are naked eyes from ahead, sunglasses from the right, and goggles above from the watchtowers studying him. Spotlights come to warmly touch his raised feathers and highlight his gaze back towards the soldiers. He stands with a confused expression and has something odd attached to him. The silence begs the soldiers to poke at and speculate what odd thing he has, but the gate behind him bangs shut to close him within the area. The sound of the closed gate is a clue for thought of who he is. Like a remedy, it causes some of the soldiers to continue what they were doing. The spotlight drifts away and turns off. Some of the other soldiers continue to have deeper inquiry of what is wrong with him. Their unfamiliar faces look at each other and then back to him. Otherwise, and with his mind on his main priority, he begins to walk again. The other soldier's eyes follow him as he approaches the tunnels.

The tunnels will lead him to go further underground, where half of the complex resides. They are straight ahead and they show the steel platforms, concrete stairs, and crystal elevators, as they function with soldiers and their instructors traveling to their destinations. Above the entrance to the tunnels, there is a giant letter "S" painted white on a wall and glows by spotlights beaming onto it. It has a notch on it such that it could be either interpreted as the number five or letter S. But Mordecai knew this symbol as it helps spells out the S in "Surge". The wall and the tunnel are a part of a building towering into the sky. It reveals that the complex isn't shy that it is underground: it goes far enough to touch the ceiling that appears as a second blackened sky. There is always the sound of machinery operating and people talking to make echoes. And eventually, there would also be a beam of light to disperse the shadows and to discover its jutting rocks and mineral veins. Behind the tunnel building contains a fifth of the complex. Some guards block the access to it from the left and right of the tunnel building. Before the entrance to the tunnels, there is a hologlyphic wall that swarms with data through its front and back panels. Beyond its mashed jargon, it could clearly show meaningful details: today's date, weather, and news in sections. Underneath Friday and the clock showing ten thirteen, there are bulletins of information that are general or specific -especially about the riot in the Electric District. Weather shows the temperature, chance of a lightning storm, and phase of the moon. Then there is the news, separated by relation to particular members or Surge altogether.

There is information for Mordecai that requires him to step on a plaque by the hologlyphic wall. Before heading to the Tunnel Building, he steps onto the plaque. The wall begins to point lasers at his eyes and began to spew data from the wall. Then the data spherically encircle him with lines of all information related to him. He reads the title, "Schedule" distinguished from the sphere; underneath it are more lines that remind him that his class starts in forty seven minutes. Some of the lines reform to describe his shift overnight and a word in bright green text reads: "Promotion." Mordecai stares at the word. He tries to remind himself what has he done to deserve it. But he realizes his dingy sleeves of his hoodie instead. "Shoot!" Mordecai exclaims, causing the sphere to also examine his clothing. A catalog forms and displays jackets and coats with their product number, size, and price. Mordecai waves the displays away, shaking his head.

"Are you going to buy something?" Someone calls out. The person rests on his arms behind a counter.

"Wait, you can see that?" Mordecai replies.

"Yeah."

Mordecai begins to reply, but the sphere begins to add more words and details about the member he looks at: such as his job of working at the front desk. The man's job is to inform or sell goods to members.

Mordecai replies, "I just wish the figure didn't look everywhere I look. So, you're a clerk, right?"

"Yeah."

"Crap, well, is that why you could see the jackets?"

"Yeah."

"OK. Do you know if teachers will think my hoodie is fine?"

"We have a uniform for a reason."

Mordecai didn't say anything but begins to think about why he is wearing the hoodie in the first place. He didn't have time to change before he got to the site.

"Do I have to buy one?"

"Well, didn't you just buy one a few weeks ago?"

"I did," Mordecai says with a hint of curiosity.

"Where is it?"

"It's in my car. But I'm going to be late if I go back, get it, and get through the gate again."

"No problem." The clerk steps behind the counter and walks to Mordecai's figure and asks for Mordecai's car keys.

"Where did you park?" the clerk continues.

"Hey man, wait. Can I really trust you?"

"You can trust me," the clerk says looking over to the gate. There are a few guards there, leaning on the watch tower and talking. He calls for a guard to come over.

A reptile looks over and then tells his buddies goodbye for now. His horns are questionable along with his species. Nonetheless, he has flowing locks of hair reaching to his shoulders. He stands tall and readjusts his jacket so that his lapel reads his last name, Ladetto, flattened across his chest. Then he walks over to the two with his thick arms crossed and ready to figure whatever needs to be straightened out. Mordecai looks up to his bearded face to find a slightly annoyed frown.

"Hey man, it's not that big of a deal," Mordecai says.

"Listen," the clerk shakes his head and asks, "how long have you been in Surge?"

"Two weeks at best."

The clerk points to the guard's boots, "they look pretty special right?"

"I've seen that style of boots before; it has more metal and stuff than the other style."

The guard asks the clerk, "Do you want me to surge, basically?"

The clerk looks back to Mordecai and asks, "You know what is surge?"

"What?" Mordecai says confusedly.

"That explains everything," the guard says. "Where do you want me to go?" the guard asks the clerk.

"Scott, where did you park your car?" the clerk asks.

Mordecai stalls a little but he continues to say, "the Skyport parking garage. I'm on the third level underground, lot 4A." The figure begins to form a line of details of the pinpointed location of Mordecai's radio at Skyport.

"And your keys?"

Mordecai gives his keys to the clerk. And the clerk gives the keys to the guard.

The guard asks, "Alright, Scott, where did you park your car?"

Mordecai reiterates, "Skyport parking garage."

The guard looks at Mordecai's figure and finds the location of his car. Then he points in the direction of the gate. Mordecai follows where the guard points to, but he looks at the gate without knowing what he is actually looking for. The guard grabs a gadget from his belt and tinkers with its interface. His boots begin to glow white hot while the guard changes his stance to get ready to sprint. But the guard disappears before he could begin to accelerate.

"What?" Mordecai says.

"He's at your car," the clerk explains. "He's probably grabbing your uniform and is about to surge again in a few seconds." After his words, the guard reappears, walking back with Mordecai's uniform jacket in his arms.

"I told you that you can trust me," the clerk says, walking away to his desk.

Mordecai stands in shock, trying to understand what has happened. But the guard gives the uniform and keys and replaces his gadget to his belt. He pats Mordecai's shoulder and says, "Someday, you'll learn all about how to step in these shoes. It's a high-class privilege you'll have to take advantage of."

"What?" Mordecai says and looks back at the sphere's green text.

"I can see your figure of course."

Mordecai stares at the guard with a confused face.

"I mean, your figure is pretty unpopulated; I guess you don't know everything about the figure yet or what I can actually see. Y'know, I can't see everything it lists about you."

"Ok, did you lock my car doors?"

"Yes."

"Alright, what do you see?"

"See what? Did you mean what did I see in your car?"

"No, my figure."

"Scott, you're a promoted man."

"I was promoted to Class 17 today."

"Yeah, it's just like climbing stairs from the previous step or few here."

"Well dude, it's a glitch-"

"Glitch? The figure can't glitch."

Mordecai looks at the figure's data again. The guard also learns a few things about Mordecai.

He asks, "You don't know how to surge?"

"I didn't even know about it."

"Did you come from Class 21 or lower?"

"Yeah, I was in Class 48."

"Oh, what? That explains it; they underestimated you. It must mean you get stronger easily or you're hiding your smarts."

"No, I'm awful."

"If you put it that way, then I guess maybe you're worth Class 10?"

"No, I'm legit garbage."

"Oh, that's right; I forgot that I saw the rejects put you to sleep."

Mordecai sighs, "Forget that."

"You just can't let people do that to yourself like that."

"That's easy to say."

"But you've jumped up to Class 17?"

Mordecai didn't say anything. The figure speaks for him in its line that he is a neophyte in combat.

"Why did you join the police if you can't fight?"

Mordecai stands there and realizes his figure gathered even more lines of data. It forms a new line that states that he is unclear about his purpose to prevent anarchy.

"You don't have the answer right on your heart either?"

"That's just for me to know," Mordecai responds irritably.

"Oh. Oh, I'm digging into your personal bubble. That's my fault. We ought to get to class before you're late or I interrogate you 'til you're dead. Though, you're awfully different from everyone else."

"We?"

"Yeah, us. I'll talk to you later in class, man. I gotta get back," the guard says walking back to his fellow guards.

The figure wasn't glitching; his promotion is legitimate: Mordecai jumped thirty-one classes in a single day. He steps off the plaque while the figure's data swims back to the Hologplyh.

Walking into the Tunnel Building, the tunnel cast a grapefruit-red light onto him. And the light reflected identification holograms off of passing policemen's uniforms and soldier's rank badges. The red light of the tunnel melts off Mordecai and he arrives in the lobby. Mordecai's feet meet the steel floor of the balcony and his hands grasp a rail. Looking over, there is a lower floor of technology markets and a series of clear elevators shafts that lead their passengers down or up. Strolling over to the stairs that lead to the elevators, he descends and enters an elevator. He presses the button labeled "-5" and leans against a wall of the elevator. The elevator doors close and he descends...

...Mordecai steps to an entrance of a hall. He stops to look side to side, observing the difference between the old hall and his new hall. An openness of bulky doors separate themselves by immense distances and stand in space, leading to extensive rooms. Spanding down to the far end, there is a center divider of lounge furniture. They are accompanied by trees with sprouting branches reaching upward. To the left, the first door is not readily ahead but distant. Moving down into the hall, he looks for the number seventeen etched into one of the doors. But he is distracted by phones, backpacks, purses, phones, and laptops left open about on sofas next to doors. Even though there is the buzz of TVs showing news and statistics, the hall is more quiet than normal. Noise isn't leaking from the rooms; which might indicate that there isn't training or conditioning happening. To be sure, he approaches in front of the door labeled, "Class 1", while faint vibrations lightly shake the floor and soft crackles of automatic guns sounds. A slightly louder boom vibrates the door and the thuds of things hitting on the door. The thudding stops, and the addition of a muffled shot of a sniper sounds behind the door. He walks up to the door, and places his ear closer to its metallic surface. The quiet world became clear: someone is running closer to the door. "Shit, give me a clip!" a voice says. Another shot echoes in the room, followed by someone running closer. A shotgun fires a blast. "Ah! Take it and run!" a distressed voice calls. The one who ran towards the door runs off again. "It's not that I can't stop him," the voice continues, shooting off another shell, "Stop shooting that! Those things actually hurt!" the distressed voice says. "This can't even make you bleed!" the voice says, "If you keep bitching about these guns, then we'd have to degrade back to the other ones. You'd better get-" the man is cut off by a blast. "What the hell?" he says, scuffing the dirt underneath his shoes. "I'm OK. I can get out by myself!" the distressed voice says. The voice says, "Let's just focus on not getting blown up!" Then a total, abrupt stop in gunfire gave a distinct sound of a fiery whooshing noise becoming suddenly louder. **BOOM!** Mordecai jumps back and finds himself a distance from the door. The door had jolted, pangs of metal fragments were deflected, and a large spray of something solid pelted upon the door. Bewildered at what was the solid thing that smacked on the door, Mordecai stands in place and considers if they'd actually blown up someone. He goes to the door again and listens. The sound inside is muffled by something covering it: a vehicle approaches and bumps about on rugged terrain, "WHOOOOO! Way to escape that shell you two! Although, Arelena totally _devastated_ your little camp over here, HA HAAAAA! It's all over on the door now! Come on! Why are you guys looking at me like that?" someone exclaims.

The voice continues, "You guys aren't hurt!"

A sniper rifle shoots a round.

"Ow!-" the voice says, "Crap, you guys are really sneaky!"

The vehicle begins to move again and go off into the distance, followed by more running off into the distance. Gunfire starts again and becomes faintly quiet.

Mordecai continues down to door three, five, seven, nine, eleven, thirteen, and fifteen. Finally looking ahead, a kangaroo stands out to the side of the door with a clipboard. He is writing something down on the clipboard underneath the enormous door labeled "CLASS 17." The door draws closer over Mordecai as he approaches.

The kangaroo looks up.

"Mordecai Scott?" the kangaroo says, pointing his pen towards Mordecai.

"Yeah."  
"I've been standing out here for a while now," he says while looking down onto his clipboard. The clipboard has a big picture of Mordecai with a nervous smile. Below it are numbers about Mordecai's age and height and words about Mordecai's species and healthiness. Such one word is what Mordecai stares at: "overstressed" in big, upside-down letters. Who observed Mordecai to determine if he is stressed? Judging the kangaroo, his first impression is his fiery-tangerine hair arranged in a type of a mohawk. There was a lot of time put into his large spikes as one his bangs hangs over his smug face. Though, his face hasn't been snooping around the lower classes, his striped A shirt and workout sweatpants rather suggest that he's active at the benchpress. His buffed-out biceps and shoulders are proof. But pulling attention below the waist, his pants has a fancy design to distract the fabric's wear near the leg openings. His lengthy tail relaxes behind his feet.

Without overlooking, this guy is possible of seeking Mordecai's trait out from out of sight.

"I'm surprised that you walked all the way over here, though, there is a conveyor belt that can transport you here quickly. Did you know that?"

"No."

"That's alright, I'll show you when you leave for the morning. Anyways, my record says you've come from Class _48_? Is that correct?"

"Heh. Yeah."

The kangaroo mumbles to himself and speaks up, "Well, my name is Ivan. I am the leader of Class 17, underneath those managers, of course."

Mordecai and Ivan shake hands.

"I'll be showing you around the house. But while we go around," Ivan says while flashing a card to a sensor, "we need to be quiet. I'll be totally honest with you: one of our classmates died."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Just be respectful to the guys."

Ivan pushes the door aside, revealing the classroom. "Is there anything you'd like to say?" he says, walking to the end of the entrance deck.

"It's a bit too early to say anything," Mordecai says, following him.

"Really? Nothing?"

"Yes."

The door shuts.

"Well, what about yourself, Mordecai?"

"Heh. What about me?"

"What do you do? You go to workout?"

"No."

"Wow, you look like if you've come straight from the gym," Ivan begins to point to Mordecai's arm, "your muscles are a bit too swollen."

Mordecai straightens out his rolled-down jacket, "Sure. But I've ran a few errands last-minute before I came here."

"Literally?"

"Kinda. I've been doing a lot this week. I guess I'm tired."

"So you're busy?"

"Yeah."

"What kind of errands?"

"I have busy-work in the morning, and so I have to do that. I actually meant earlier that I don't go to the gym," Mordecai says as he points to his tone, feathered arms.

"I realized that. But what else about you? What do you when you get home?"

"Work and running in circles."

"That's no fun."

"Yeah."

"Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

Mordecai sighs, "I'm, I'm a co-manager of Park in downtown Linnen."

"Nice job. It seems like I've recruited guys that have sundry jobs."

"What do the other guys do?"

"It's a good range. I have a guy with his own business and another unemployed."  
"Interesting."

"Though, I'm going to have to figure something to do with your expertise."

Mordecai didn't say anything.


End file.
